So here I am in California, a shade more grey than when I shared it last, but I don’t mind that at all. The truth is I’ve been counting the days to November, even the hours perhaps, for reasons I haven’t found ways to talk about here yet. Some of them have been hard not to share, like the fact that next week I’ll be boarding another plane from Los Angeles with my family to take a journey I’ve always dreamed of. Other reasons I simply didn’t know if I wanted to talk about, even if I found the way. I’ve realized in doing so there’s a piece missing of a whole other journey I should be sharing.
Truthfully, I wonder how many people will continue to visit blogs for fashion and photography. People can sign on to Pinterest and scroll an infinite feed of beautiful photos with no mind to where they came from. They build their own stories around them and probably never think of the people and places that brought that photo to life; a girl without a name in a place they can’t find on a map. If by chance things happen the other way around, I hope they find a story here first, one uniquely my own and irreplaceable regardless of the picture put before it, one worth following and returning to with each new chapter. I think that’s the story I need to share more of.
My writing here has always been about what’s between the lines, a balance between expression and mystery, the latter of which only my close friends would know how much is left unsaid. I assume for the rest that seems plausible as a post a week can only reveal so much when we’re living and breathing 24 hours a day. So when I tell you I want to reveal more of my story, I don’t mean what I had for lunch. I mean more so that since June I’ve been spending nine to ten of those 24 hours every weekday at a desk in an office doing something I’m good at but will never love, on mission that isn’t mine. I want to talk about how I’ve been counting the days to November to get a break from all that. I want to talk about how it makes me feel like a sellout for getting tired of working myself into the ground running my own business, and trading it in for the proverbial nine-to-five and a salary I found suitable for a twenty-five year old. I want to talk about that being an artist, a writer, a photographer, a creator is not something that you can escape no matter what your job title, and how you’ll steal back the hours in the night you sell in the day to do the things you still love. I want to talk about what it’s like to put a million and one of those things you create into the universe and have most forgotten faster than a shooting star. One in a million of those things though, someone will find; a photo, a film, an idea. They’ll latch onto it and write to you, wanting to build a world around it together. I want to talk about how suddenly that feels like the most promising thing, that maybe you got it right the first time after all.
I don’t know of many people telling that story as they go. I wish I could find more, but I don’t have to wish to tell my own. I’ve always done that here, yet finding it’s the nature of blogs to inflate an illusion of success that’s enviable, I’d rather focus on the journey that is admirable. I’ll still tell you about my favorite places and my favorite things, but those alone will never be enough. So here I am, standing on a roof in Los Angeles, thinking about the woman I want be, inward and out and all the achievements, people, and places I want to be a part of that. Perhaps you’ll just say the photos are nice, and ask me what I’m wearing. I’ll tell you all that too. If by chance you’re looking for a story, I’m going to have a great one to tell. Who knows, maybe you’ll share your’s too.